


Dance

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fliers Being Fliers, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8917135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Starscream has perfect command of the air.





	

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the random moments when Starscream decided he had earned his undivided attention, it was just that he so often didn’t understand what his bond-mate really wanted until it was shoved in his face. That left him to flounder along with his reactions until _whatever_ was going on clicked in his processor, alternately bemusing and frustrating him with his Commander’s incessant need for _subtlety_.

Today the pretense was flight training; something that meant they would leave the Nemesis alone together and spend hours somewhere drilling the same maneuvers again and again, until either Carrion could no longer see straight or Starscream was satisfied with his performance. Well, at least hypothetically, they would stop at that; it had never happened, so Carrion didn’t know for sure.

Except, from the moment they’d launched from the deck of the Nemesis, Starscream had wordlessly rocketed off, leaving him to eat contrail as he scrambled to chase after him.

Generally, he could hold his own in a race, when one was given. He was light and fast – that was about the only thing he had ever naturally had going for him in battle, the only thing that didn’t have to be drilled into him – and he was flexible enough to follow his Commander’s lead, even as the flight path became increasingly convoluted.

As they dipped and tumbled through the air, the rushing fuel giving Carrion a giddy buzz, he started to get the feeling that _training_ was supposed to have been some kind of euphemism. This was exactly the sort of thing that Starscream told him _not_ to engage in, unworkably complex maneuvers that looked pretty but did nothing but distract you from your goal.

But it _was_ pretty, he thought, especially when his mate shed his alt mode; his long limbs forced back by gravity as he turned a neat flip and plummeted toward the ground. The view was gorgeous, yes, enough so that it sent a shiver of delight from his processor to his spark as he dived down after the other, still in jet form.

Tumbling through the air with the earth swelling faster and faster in view was exhilarating, the sort of pleasure he engaged in when given time on his own. It was uselessly dangerous, a risk to limb and life, and it suddenly struck him that perhaps that was exactly Starscream’s point.

Indeed, when he pulled up from his nosedive, he was only a few hundred feet from the tall trees over which they’d been flying – and Starscream pushed further, only slipping back into his jet form at the last moment, so the breeze of his passing ruffled the topmost branches and sent a number of birds squawking from their perches.

He had heard of fliers doing this before, generally only when they were reckless and stupid or too desperate to catch the attentions of their intended mate to attempt any other methods of courtship. They used a handsome show of flight skill to entice the desired mech, recklessly endangering themselves to prove how daring and strong and capable they were.

Of course, Starscream had no use for such a display; they were already bonded, for one thing, but for another, what did the Air Commander need to prove to a lowly, rank-less soldier? No, what had passed for courtship between them had been flattering enough; and it had barely existed. An already blurred line of professionalism had been crossed, and that had been that.

The larger jet shot back upward, and Carrion followed, maneuverability hopelessly outclassed by his bonded. He thought of what any other flight capable mech would see, watching Starscream moving this way, and knew that even one who hated the treacherous ‘Con would be captivated.

The message was fairly clear: _I am faster than you, I am stronger than you, and I could have any mech I want. Instead, I picked you._

“What are we doing, Commander,” he asked, accessing his mate’s com-link in playful tones. “Dancing?”


End file.
